


Heaven Won't Miss the Devil

by TrippinOverMyFandoms



Category: Donnie Darko (2001)
Genre: AU, Bipolar Disorder, First Person, Hurt/Comfort, I shouldn't be writing this, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post canon, Schizophrenia, Whump, bipolar, dead fandom, donnie pov, maybe some autism if I can figure out how to write that, t for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrippinOverMyFandoms/pseuds/TrippinOverMyFandoms
Summary: It  was a freak accident.On October 4, 1988 a plane had fallen apart mid air. One of the engines had crashed through the roof of a house and killed an innocent teenager. Or... had it?Donnie Darko wakes up in the hospital with his only recollection being what the doctors tell him was a schizophrenic episode. It doesn't make sense because it had all felt so real. For him, this should have been his second time cheating death. Now he's left to struggle with sorting out what was real and what wasn't as everyday life still demands his attention.





	1. Part 1: the incident/the hospital

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be writing this since I still have Sladiver week prompts to fill and like three chaptered fics I gotta work on but here we are- I'm writing for a dead fandom. Hell the came out a year before I was born but I've gone batshit over this movie.
> 
> This though will have short chapters I'm calling "parts". So they will fluctuate in length.

The paramedic wears a solemn and apologetic face as he approaches the grieving family that's still standing outside in their pajamas. Well, all of them except a girl who appears to have returned from a party the previous evening. 

"I'm sorry to have to do this but," the words are heavy and hard to get out, this is his least favorite part of the job, "we just need you to confirm the identity of the body." Whether it was a child or an elderly, asking the family to do identify the dead was difficult, especially after a tragedy like this. They hadn't asked for it and they shouldn't have to see their loved one's lifeless body.

The parents are compliant and the daughters are left behind, they're too young and don't need that image to haunt them for the rest of their lives. Loosing someone so close was bad enough. 

He leads them to the stretcher that's positioned at the back of the ambulance. The body is covered by a white sheet and he knows he's going to have to pull it back so the couple can see the kid's face. 

It's a hard action and it feels like time is moving in slow motion as it happens. A second is all it takes for them to see and nod to confirm that the body was indeed their son.

He's just about to put the cloth back into place before the public eye can get a view when he hears the new guy pop up. "Uh sir," he starts, sounding rather unsure and he looks poised for action, "there's a pulse."

(-)

All at once the weightlessness from my body is gone. It's like when you get out of the water and step onto dry land almost. Except that's voluntary, this isn't. Almost like being in space and then suddenly being on earth. I supposed it is kinda like that if space is my own head. 

A better comparison is a rock in water. Everything feels heavy and it's a little difficult to breathe. I can't even mange to open my eyes. I'm not exactly awake, regaining consciousness is a better term. I don't exactly feel like I've been asleep because I'm able to remember stuff. 

Recollection fills my head, everything until now hits and with it I'm able to find the strength to stretch my fingers at least. 

I know who I am and all that stuff they ask you when they're checking for a concussion. I can remember everything a little too well actually.

I'm not sure how I'm even alive for that matter. Time had run out, everyone was dead. The end of the world must have happened. Maybe I was dead. Maybe this was how it felt. I don't exactly think I've gone to any sort of heaven because I didn't really believe in that stuff. Not that I ever did anything good to end up there in the first place. 

Man, the afterlife sure was dark. Oh... right. Still had my eyes closed. 

It takes about every ounce of strength in me just to lift my eyelids. It's futile though because as soon as I manage, light floods my vision and I squeeze them shut. A headache was already forming, great and I let out a groan of frustration. I don't really like this whole being dead thing already. Wasn't it supposed to be peaceful? Nothing was supposed to matter, I'm not even supposed to exist if I'm dead.

My name echoes around in my head a few times. It's weird because it's not mine and it's not Frank's. I had killed Frank, or some version of him at least, he should be gone. 

This time when I open my eyes I use a hand to shield whatever the offending light was. My vision is blurry and I have to blink a few times just to make out anything. Now that I could see I realized the voice had belonged to Elizabeth. 

I want to say something to her but I don't know what. Though it's not like my throat would let me anyways since it feels dry and scratchy. Maybe if I could I'd apologize for the end of the world. She had a lot of plans for her future and now she wouldn't be able to live out those. 

It's odd, she's standing up and apparently I'm laying down. Concern is written all over her face and she seems hesitate to even touch my hand. It's not like I was going to break, we're already dead. Maybe she didn't understand that. 

Suddenly she moves, rather quickly too, and it's nauseating to even try to follow her with my gaze. She's declared something that I can't quite make out but I know she's talking. There's more confusing noises and I'm still not sure what's going on.

It's nearly impossible to sit up but I have to, I have to know what's happening. If I had known death was going to be this confusing then I wouldn't have awaited it. 

After a few minutes of struggle I manage to push myself in somewhat of a more upright position. By now my eyes have better adjusted to the light. 

There's a set of hands gently ushering me back down before I have much time to properly take in my surroundings. 

A hospital room. I was in a hospital room. I still can't completely make out sounds and it's all a lot to process at once but from what I could see that's where I was. 

I wasn't dead after all.  
That was impossible.


	2. Part 2: home

November 20th, 1988

"You shouldn't have to spend your Thanksgiving break looking after me." I say to my mother as she rounds the couch to stand in front of me to adjust the blanket around my shoulders. It was a Sunday and she'd be off anyways but I still felt bad. 

She brushes the hair from my face and instinctively I lean to dodge it. "Mom I'm fine." I grumble, I was sick and tired of everyone treating me like a sick child and all the extra attention was ironically getting on my nerves. I'll be the first to admit being the middle child has left me with attention issues but this isn't exactly the kind of attention I wanted. 

"You've been out of the hospital for all of four days, you need to take it easy." She's rather insistent on continuing to fix the stray strands of hair goes about fussing over my well being. 

The last thing I'm pretty sure I needed was rest. Being asleep for thirty-nine days on end had left me with a bit of disdain for sleep. My therapist said that was probably because I was afraid of not waking up again but that's all bull. At least sleep walking had stopped being a problem.

All at once flashes of waking up where I wasn't supposed to be and a dark figure mixed in with it all flashes in my mind. I didn't mean to shrink into the couch as much as I did but that figure had been haunting me for the past week.

They told me he wasn't real. That it hadn't happened. If that was true then why has it felt so real. Why was his face so vividly plastered on my subconscious? Why could I still remember his voice? Why could I remember the bad things I had done because of him?

But they hadn't happened. Vandalizing the school, burning down that guy's house, everything else, they didn't happen. That's what was so weird to me. I remember doing it. I remember feeling it. I remember Halloween and Elizabeth's party but according to everyone else I'd been asleep in the hospital the whole time. 

I had survived some kind of freak accident. 

But that had already happened. I wasn't even home when it happened the first time. 

I had almost convinced myself that it was some sort of conspiracy and the whole coma thing was a way of covering it all up. 

Maybe time travel was a thing after all. That's what it had been all about right? Time travel. Frank was some sort of time traveler. Grandma death had written a book about it. I even read it. 

Whatever it was no one believed me.

The sound of someone calling my name pulls me out of whatever rabbit hole I had gone down. Okay, that metaphor was pretty poor considering Frank had worn a bunny costume for pretty much all of when I knew him.

Anyway- 

"See? You're not fine." It's my mother again. I hadn't realized while my mind wandered I had pulled my knees up to my chest and my whole body was tense. 

I roll my eyes and do my best to relax before pushing her out of the way to stand up. The action was too fast and I stagger. I'm suddenly light headed and I feel like I might vomit. My mother's hand on my shoulder steadies me but I brush it away. As soon as I'm sure my lunch won't make a reappearance and the room stops spinning so much, I more or less storm off from the living room to my room.

I've barely made it to the stairs when I run right into Elizabeth. She stops me and it's like she looks right through me. I'm not sure how she's able to do that but I hate it. "Donnie? Are you okay?" She asks. I can tell she's tired and I know college hunting is not the cause. She hasn't stopped worrying about about me either. 

"Fuck off," I say, pushing past her and beginning to climb the stairs. It's rather blunt but I've always been straight to the point, "I already have a mom!" I add, shouting it over my shoulder as I go. 

I make a point by slamming my bedroom door behind me. It only helps a fraction in relieving my pent up stress. 

The silence feels good. The aloneness feels even better. They haven't left me by myself for more than a few seconds since the moment that I woke up in the hospital. I sort of get the feeling like they've been hovering since long before. I get that I cheated death but I didn't need to be watched around the clock.

At least that's what I thought before I collapsed to the carpet.


	3. Part 3: the attack

I'll admit that maybe I was a little stupid. 

I knew it was a bad idea the second I stood up but I couldn't help it, I needed the space. Everyone was constantly breathing down my neck so you can't blame me. 

But this was awful. I felt light, and not the good kind of light I felt when Frank was around. It wasn't the kind of high I had gotten used to. It was more like the kind that set of sirens in my head telling me something was wrong. 

I had tried to at least make the few steps to my bed before my shaky legs gave out on me but the first step I took sent me to the floor. The sound of muffled footsteps outside my door meant it was too much to hope no one had heard the rather obvious thump I had caused. 

My head is pounding and I can barely see straight but I do my best to army crawl to the edge of my bed. If I could just get there then maybe I can play it off like I dropped something. Maybe a book from one of the numerous bookshelves. Great Expectations would be a good choice. 

I've just managed to sit up against the side when I hear the door open. Great. There was no way I could make this look like something else now. 

Both my parents stood in the doorway and behind them was Elizabeth. I'm almost certain Samantha isn't far behind either. By the expression on their faces you'd think I'd have just been shot dead. 

If it meant some peace and quiet to myself- I'd take it.

"I'm fine." I state, forcing myself to stand up, putting all my weight on the edge of the mattress for support, and hope to whatever god that how much I'm shaking isn't obvious. I feel like a leaf on the freeway or something. 

The room spins and my knees give out before I can manage to perch on the edge of my bed. I wasn't exactly making a very good case for myself. 

I don't hit the floor this time, instead someone catches me. If the damned room could be still for a second I'd be able to tell who it was. Judging by how effortlessly they lift me up onto my bed and lay me down like I weighed next to nothing, it was probably my dad. I don't think I've lost that much weight that it was my mother. I know I'm not much more than skin and bones as it is but I'm still a sixteen year old boy. 

"You should probably stop saying that." Elizabeth's matter-of-fact tone is annoying. Luckily, before she can add anything else Mom cuts her off with, "that's enough." And I'm starting to wonder if she had heard me tell Elizabeth that I already had a mom earlier. 

The spinning of the room is starting to make me dizzy, laying down is almost worse too. It feels like I can breathe and there's a lot of pressure in my head. Rolling over onto my side and holding my stomach to keep from vomiting, I try to even out my breathing. It doesn't work. I can't hear whatever is being said and I'm seeing but not really processing it. Everything seems like it's too much. 

These images flash in my mind. It's a lot like I'm falling and surrounded by rubble that's forcing me down and causing an awful weight on my chest I can't seem to relieve. It's dark and everything hurts, any air I can get in is full of dust but I can't cough because the weight on my chest is so great. 

I can't breathe.  
I... I can't breathe.  
There's no air in my lungs. I can't get anything in and nothing out.  
I can't-  
I can't-

There it is again, my name rattling around in my head, spoken by someone else. I can breathe now but it's uneven. If I wasn't shaking before I was definitely trembling now. 

I'm also sitting up in my bed now. There's even a different kind of weight on my chest, moving around in a way that's making it easier for me to breathe. Slowly my vision returns to normal and thankfully the room has stopped spinning so much. 

"Donnie? Can you hear me?" I still don't know who the voice belongs to and all I can do is nod. I can hear but it's like before- I can't process. My mind is busy analyzing whatever it was that I saw.

The problem is that's not the first time I've seen it, nor is it the second or third. I've dreamt about it. I'm pretty sure I lived it.

I think I was supposed to die. 

There's a dip in the bed next to me followed by a weight around my shoulders. For some reason all the extra stimulation brings me out of whatever daymare I had fallen victim to. 

My dad is standing by the head of the bed and holding me up. My mom is sitting next to me and her arms are around me. I can't seem to find Elizabeth though but maybe she got scared and ran off. Maybe Samantha had been close by so she made sure she didn't see whatever that was.


	4. Part 4: therapy

"They're called panic attacks," Dr. Amelia Thomas explains. I couldn't go to Dr. Therman anymore and they told me it was because my case was just too advanced or some bull like that. I don't know why they lied since I know exactly why. I had one of those panic attack things in her office the last time I was there. 

"They're usually caused by sights or sounds that trigger an overwhelming anxious feeling. Sometimes it's just being overwhelmed in general. There's even cases of patients working themselves into attacks from being anxious." She's straight to the point and official, almost cold in her delivery with all the fancy ways she says things. I used to think Dr. Therman was annoying in how much she seemed to care for my well being. Now I sort of missed that. 

The fact that her office wasn't safe anymore was hard. I'd seen her since I was ten and I learned how to trust her. I definitely didn't trust Dr. Thomas. She was just so stiff and reminded me of the stuck up teachers at my school. Like I was just another person to her and not someone who needed help. I give the most push back to those types. 

She pushes her glasses up her nose and looks me over. I haven't said a word yet and really all she's had to go on are what my parents told her and my medial files. Had it been an hour yet? I'm already getting tired of sitting in her office. It's just as cold as she is. 

There's a clock on the table by her chair. Fifteen more minutes seems like an eternity. 

Fourteen more.  
Thirteen more.  
Twelve more.

"I'll tell you a secret," she states like she's used to the phrase, shifting in her seat like she's noticed me staring at the clock. She probably tells her other patients that exact thing when she's trying to connect to them. I guess I'll give her a point for trying. "I've had panic attacks before," my gaze goes straight from the digits to her. That caught me off guard. She seems so collected and so far from crazy that I wouldn't have ever guessed that.

I regret it though because it looks like she's trying to hold back a grin from how she's gained my attention. Dammit. 

"From PTSD mostly. I won't bore you with the story but it's a lot like your case," I'm not sure if she means she's suffered from time travel or a schizophrenic episode or maybe it's just the PTSD thing. It's a toss up right now, "if it happens again it's best to find at least one thing to focus on. Like one of your senses or trying to divert your attention from whatever is bothering you to some sort of happier memory." Easier said than done. 

I nod, flexing out my fingers over my knees. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I mumble, I don't really want to give her much more than that. I still don't trust her. 

Nine more minutes. 

"You don't have to stay the whole time you know. You can leave if you aren't comfortable Donnie." She's already putting away her pen and closing up her notebook and my file. That's all I needed. 

Once again I nod as its and up a little too quickly. It's all I can do not to nearly fall over from the sudden head rush. It's been nearly a week since I was released and I'm healed from all the injuries I had gotten so why did I still feel this way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are pretty short but guess what? I don't care  
I actually had a rather successful self published author tell me word count doesn't matter and your chapters can be as short or as long as you want them so haha


End file.
